


You Used to Take Me Dancing

by ficfan_113



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: F/M, Fiona wants to know if you're having safe sex, M/M, Vampire hunting, dracula stuff, mysterious packages, piano bar vampires, vampire piano bars, vampires just wanna have FUNdamental rights
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-09-15 09:32:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16930752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficfan_113/pseuds/ficfan_113
Summary: For Fiona Pitch, the transition from punk layabout to badass vampire hunter has been a bit rocky. Her last mission was a total bust, and her teenage nephew moving into her flat is putting a serious damper on her love life. And as it turns out, Baz isn't the only vampire giving her grief....





	1. Late Night Caller

**Author's Note:**

> I want to note that the Nicodemus I am writing in this fic is a bit less hard edged than in the book, and that is intentional. He's a little more Saul Alinsky and a lot less Jason Statham.

The thing you have to know about Nicky, first off, is that he's a complete twat.

Alright, so we were kids I found his rebellious streak pretty hot. Show me a teenage girl that claims she isn’t turned on by a bloke who's always breaking the rules, and I’ll show you a liar. But then he up and left to become a vampire. A fucking _vampire._ What kind of idiot willingly runs off to join a race of dark creatures? 

And look at him now. Last I heard he had turned into a real bottom feeder. Defanged. Wandless. Lurking in dingy bars like a second rate thug. Probably living off of rats and pigeons for all I care. I haven't thought about him in years. Honestly. 

Okay, yes, he was my first love. You never forget your first. But it's not as if I'm pining after him like he's the one who got away or anything. He didn't even want me to come with him, when he went to the vampires. Not that I would have, but he didn't even ask. That was what really stung- he left everyone behind, but he left me, too. He left me, most of all.

* * *

**Fiona:**

I woke up around 11am when the woman next door started vacuuming her flat. Probably just dropped off her 3 darling kiddies at ballet camp or whatever it is. I’ve never really spoken to her beyond the usual “g’morning,” etc, but I can tell she thinks I’m some sort of morally suspect profligate who brings home too many men. I pad out into the kitchen and magic the coffee machine into action. The flat is a mess, as usual, but one thing I always do is set up the coffee the night before. I don't like fucking about with the dirty used grounds in the morning.

I pour myself a cup and then lean against the counter and root through the pile of mail (mostly junk as usual, since no one in the magical world bothers to send letters by the regular post) (do normals even use the post anymore?) and toss a few adverts in the bin. I just returned late the previous night from a mission in Prague, so there's several weeks worth. What a waste of time that trip turned out to be. 

My idiot nephew Basil seems to think my work hunting vampires for the Coven has breathed new life into me or something, but to be honest I still feel like I'm mucking it up half the time. Especially lately. I used to do the coven's dirty work for them- feeding them information from my shady connections. That wasn't so much a job as just sort of living my life and letting them know about things I heard now and again. It mostly involved hanging around in the same dives I would have been in anyway, and keeping friendly with the regulars and the bartenders and that kind of thing. It's a little beyond me why they even needed someone like me to pass them the goss. Like how hard is it to have a wee chat with your weed dealer whenever he stops by? That's just being polite. But I guess the old family types on the coven think they're too good to be hanging about with that sort, so they leave it to me.

That isn't to say that that I'm not one of those old family types. I am, obviously- the Pitch family is one of the oldest. But I never was interested in all those posh parties, and going to The Club. It didn't seem very punk. (Of course here I am living off the trust fund, so I guess that's not very punk either.) 

Anyway, after everything happened with the Mage last year, I knew I needed something to occupy me. I needed to _do_ something. So I told the Coven I was ready to take on more, and before I knew it I had been appointed to this vampire task force. The supreme irony of this is not lost on me. Me, to whom a vampire is the dearest person in the world. But Baz is different. He's family, isn't he? And anyway, Baz doesn't eat people. 

It was my first couple weeks on the force when we heard about Prague, and so far I'd only participated in a couple of raids- arresting vampires who were known to have harmed humans. Pretty exciting stuff to be honest, but this Prague business was a right bit nastier. 

The word was, someone was stalking and killing students at a university there. Three students were found dead, bodies 'mysteriously’ exsanguinated, and a 4th had disappeared, never to be seen again. The Czech magicians have their own coven, of course, but they didn't have the resources to go after this killer so they called in a favor. Our coven in London is one of the largest and most powerful in Europe, and over the years we've developed a reputation for being some of the fiercest when it comes to taking down dark creatures. 

The vampires in London keep a pretty low profile. The Mage did a real job of cracking down on them over the last 15 years or so, put most of them into hiding. As far as I know, they get by feeding on animals, and taking blood from willing donors (right idiots if you ask me- normals who read Twilight too many times). And probably some of them take victims that they know won't not be missed- tramps with no family to notice when they disappear.

Every once in a while, though, one of them gets a bit too big for his britches. Let's himself get too hungry, say, or just too stupid. Kills a person and doesn't clean up after himself properly. The punishment for that is death, and we are the ones who enforce it.

I was sent over with a couple of others on the force, and we assumed we'd have it wrapped up in a day or two. As it turned out, clues were thin on the ground. The magicians in the Prague coven were acting cagey- it seemed obvious someone was lying to us, even though they were the ones who called us in in the first place. They wouldn't even tell us where the city's vampires were known to congregate- but they must have known. Someone was hiding something. Weeks went on and we got no closer to finding out who had carried out the attacks, but students stopped disappearing and the Prague mages leaned on the London Coven to recall us back home. The whole thing was just fucking weird. 

Frankly it was a huge disappointment. After everything that happened last year with the war and the Mage, I was sort of counting on this new job to be my redemption arc, and failure wasn't part of the plan. I just wanted us to succeed in Prague so badly, and not being able to turn up even a scrap of evidence about the attacks was massively frustrating. 

Towards the bottom of the pile of mail I see there is a small package- a brown padded envelope. That's odd- I hadn't ordered anything and I couldn't think of anyone who would send me a package. I toss aside the rest of the adverts and a notice from the building manager, pick up the package, and turn it over. 

It's small- about the length and width of a postcard, but it feels heavy. It’s addressed to me, but no there's no return address. I start to rip it open before thinking better of it and reaching across the table for my wand. I cast I've got nothing to hide! pointing the tip of my wand at the package. Nothing happens. Well, that spell would only turn up an obvious threat anyway. A good way of making sure it's not a letterbomb or a packet of anthrax, at least. I slit open the strip of adhesive sealing the envelope and tip it out over my hand. A small white object falls into my fingers. It's smooth, and cool to the touch- some sort of figurine. I turn it over several times but there's nothing written on it, nothing to indicate what it is. I set it down and check the envelope- no note. What the fuck? Did someone send me a knick knack for my non-existent mantelpiece and forget to put the card in? I pick up the figurine again and examine it more closely. It's sort of rectangular-ish, and it has something carved into it that could be an abstract face- all big teeth and eyes. I think it might be ivory. 

Are mysterious packages a cause for concern? I'm leaning towards yes. Although once I started inexplicably getting a subscription of Horse and Hound magazine delivered to my flat and only found out months later that Baz's stepmother Daphne had signed me up because she had extra frequent flyer miles or something and forgot to tell me. (Yes, really. That's honestly not even the weirdest thing she's done in an attempt to befriend me.) This seems distinctly more sinister than Horse and Hound, though. Also I'm pretty sure Daphne donates to the World Wildlife Federation, so she definitely wouldn't be caught dead with something made out of ivory. 

I puzzle over the figurine for a while longer that morning while I run errands, (even mages have to go out and buy milk when they come back from travelling, I'm sorry to report) but by that evening I had largely forgotten about it. 

* * *

I’m headed back to the flat sometime around 2am when I turn the corner onto my street and get the creeping sense that someone is watching me. I scan the street but there’s no one in sight. I pick up the pace a bit and start to slip my wand out of my sleeve.

I've got on a black minidress (vintage McQueen) and shredded nylons. And my Docs, obviously. I was out with a bloke I met before I shipped out for Prague. I picked him up at a punk show in Camden Town where his band was opening for the main act. I told him I do government consulting work of a confidential nature and I'm pretty sure he thinks I'm a spy, which is endearing.

I've always been a sucker for a musician, I won't deny it. Sometimes they're too self absorbed to be a good fuck, but I wouldn't have kept this one around if he wasn't. A _very_ good fuck. Normally I'd bring a bloke back to my flat, but ever since Baz moved in with me I find it too weird to bring a date home. So we went to his place instead. I never spend the night, though. If you spend too much time lying about cuddling them they start to think you’re their girlfriend. 

I like dating normals because it's less complicated. The magical community is so small that everyone always seems to know everyone else's business. I don't fancy being the topic of even more gossip than I already am. I never let these things go on for more than a few months, though. It's hard to get close to someone when you basically have to lie about everything and they can't ever meet your family. But, you know, it's fun while it lasts.

I make it to the door of the building without anything jumping out at me horror-movie style, and I start to wonder if I’ve just imagined it. I’ve got my wand gripped tightly in my hand but I hold it down by my leg so that I look less like a lunatic in case a normal sees me. I punch the door code and slip inside, chalking up the hairs-on-the-back-of-my-neck feeling to typical wee hours weirdness. I’m still feeling wired when I get upstairs, though, so I flip on the telly and settle in on the couch. Interview with the vampire is on. I never say no to Brad Pitt. 

Baz left a note on the coffee table: 

Staying at Simon's.  
-B

I swear I had no problem with it when he told me he was queer. Although it does seem like the universe is playing a bit of a cruel joke on the poor boy- like how much stigma is he going to have to overcome before he turns 20? But really, I don't care that he's gay- what I'm still getting used to is this Simon Snow thing. Did anyone see that coming? It's what Baz wants though, so I'm trying to accept it, for him. He hasn't brought Simon around the flat yet, but I assume it's going to have to happen eventually. In the meantime it seems as though he's spending every other night at Snow's. Teenage hormones and all that, I suppose. Not for the first time I wonder if I should get him some condoms or something? 

I'm just starting to drift off on the couch when the doorbell rings and startles me awake. I get up off the couch and automatically head over to the buzzer, but as I pass through the kitchen I glance over at the clock and realize it's 3am. Christ who could that possibly be? It's not beneath me to send a late night text now and again, but I certainly didn't this time. Could it be Baz? He has his own key, obviously but... maybe something is wrong?

A coil of anxiety starts to wind itself up somewhere behind my navel. I quicken my pace through the kitchen and depress the little plastic button mounted next to the door. "Baz?" I say, worry clouding my voice "is that you?"

"Different vampire." a familiar drawling voice comes crackling out of the speaker. Crackling out of my past, more like. 

What. The. Fuck. 

I feel my fear dissolve and transform into a knot of anger. I stand silently for what feels like minutes but can't be more than 15 seconds. "Come on let me in," the speaker crackles again.

Why is all the blood rushing to my face? I feel like I need to flee. I feel 17 again. “Absolutely fucking not." I spit into the speaker, scowling at the door as if he can see my expression. 

A pause. “Someone could see me out here if you don't buzz me in." 

"Fuck you!" I bark. "What gives you the right to show up here in the middle of the night-"

"Fiona." He cuts me off, iron in his voice. He has got a point, I can't have him loitering around outside my building like this. I'm not supposed to have any contact with him. None of us are. He speaks again, more softly this time, “I need to talk to you about something.”

I shift from foot to foot with indecision before hissing "alright" and pressing the buzzer. I'm immediately acutely aware of the sink full of dishes, the table covered in old newspapers and used mugs. And the hideous sweatpants I'm wearing....

I quickly slip back into the den, grab my wand off of the couch and then cast a halfhearted cleaning spell while anxiously running my fingers through my hair. A cardigan is draped over the back of a chair, and I pull it on over my ratty old Ramones t-shirt. Damnit, why did I take off the minidress? The spell doesn't do much more than move the clutter into more orderly piles. I've always been crap at cleaning spells.

I slip back into the kitchen and stand behind the door, taking deep breaths and trying to get myself under control. In through the nose, out through the mouth (yeah ok, so i go to yoga sometimes. It's not a bad place to meet blokes. Fit blokes). Leaning my head against the door and inhaling deeply once more, I slide the chain out and then step back, pulling it open slightly and standing in the gap.

It's a second before I see him coming around the corner on the landing and cresting the stairs. His eyes immediately meet mine and I have to work to steady my breath again. I've always been more of the break-up-and-never-speak-again type. Confronting my exes is not my strong suit. Or really any sort of confronting-your-emotions type of thing if I'm being honest....

He looks like shit. He's dressed in faded jeans and a dingy button down, and he's thin, so thin. He always had cheekbones like a supermodel, but now they look sharp enough to cut glass on. He seems too gray, somehow. Baz has always looked a bit gray, in his lips and his skin. But not like this. He has dark circles under his eyes and his blond hair is short and disheveled. I can only see a ghost of the handsome young man I used to know. I take it all in as he stalks up to my door, never breaking eye contact with me. And then Nicodemus Petty is standing right there, on my bloody welcome mat.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Nicky, your kind _murder_ people and _drink their blood,_ " she says harshly, leaning towards me with her arms still crossed. "Do you really think the coven would ever agree to any of that?"

**Nicky**

God she looks good. She's just as beautiful as I remember. Older, now of course. It's been years. But that angular face is still the same, the dark hair and pale skin. The cheeky blond streak on the left side is still there, but I can see some gray hairs keeping it company now.

I immediately begin to ask myself what the fuck it is that I think I'm doing here. If she has half a brain she'll throw me right out onto the street again when she hears what I have to say. The Fiona I used to know would never have let a sad sop like me in in the first place. She looks mad as hell, but when I first came around the corner she was biting her bottom lip, so I can tell she’s nervous even if she’s trying to hide it.

"Fiona." I say, quirking an eyebrow. Trying to sound cool and flippant. Probably failing.

She swings the door open a bit wider and steps aside for me to pass. I don't move from the spot. "I..." I start to say, letting my voice trail off. She has to invite me.

"Oh. OH." Realization dawns on her face. "Come in. Nicky,” she says awkwardly. But as soon as I step through the doorway she comes back to her senses. "What the fuck are you doing here?" She ushers me into the kitchen and shuts the door behind me, sliding the latch into place.

I turn around to face her. "How about a cup of tea?" I ask, raising my eyebrows. She snorts. "I'll explain everything." She looks extremely skeptical but moves past me to reach for the kettle. She busies herself with the tea things for a moment and I take the opportunity to look around. It's a fairly posh flat, but just as messy as her room always was back in Watford. "I'm sorry it's late-" I begin.

"It's the middle of the night!" she interrupts."

"I tend to keep late hours, these days." I reply, sliding into a seat at the small, crowded kitchen table. As if I need to tell her that. "but I didn't wake you?” I know I didn’t, I waited half the night for her to come home and watched her go in.

"No. I was up." She brings two mugs over to the table, and I push aside some papers to make room for them.

"What, no biscuits?" I ask, letting the left side of my mouth turn up, just a bit. Hoping she smiles back.

"Don't push your luck." she glowers back, taking a seat opposite me and wrapping her hands around her mug.

"How have you been?" I ask.

She cocks an eyebrow "you want a rundown of the last 16 years then?"

"17" I correct. She scowls.

"Listen, I'm tired. What are you doing here?"

I suppose there's no sense delaying the inevitable. "I need to talk to you. About Prague." She scowls back at me, surprised and displeased.

"How do you even know about that?"

"Your lot haven't been as subtle as you think you have, you know." I retort. Just like the coven to think no one else ever figures out what they're up to. They've always underestimated our kind, to their detriment.

 

**Fiona**

When I pictured seeing my ex-boyfriend (who dumped me to join the vampires, the absolute fucking prick) for the first time in a decade and a half, this is not how I wanted it to go. This is the kind of thing that you only imagine happening to you when you're looking drop dead gorgeous and surrounded by cool friends. Lounging in a hip bar and laughing your head off at some extremely good joke. Not sitting in your grotty flat wearing disgusting pyjamas. And how does he know I've been in Prague? Actually, I have a lot of questions. I start with "How do you know where I live?"

"It wasn't that hard to find you."

"Do you need money?" I ask, the possibility just now dawning on me. "Is that it? Good old Fiona was always good for it back in the day, _maybe I can hit her up for some cash?”_

"No. No!" he replies, shaking his head emphatically. His upper lip pulls up into a sneer, and I notice two matching gaps where his canine teeth should be. So that rumor is true. The effect is not flattering. He has to have run afoul of the coven, to have been de-fanged, but I’ve no idea what he did. I've heard that among vampires, losing your fangs is a terrible disgrace. "That's not why I'm here. I told you. I need to talk to you about Prague."

"What about it?" I sneer back, unwilling to admit that he might know about the coven's supposedly secret activities.

"How did your mission go?" he asks, tilting his head to the side and lifting an eyebrow.

"Well why don't you tell me, if you're so smart." I retort. When all else fails, be a wiseass. That's always been my model.

"Look, I'm here to help you," he says. His hands are lifted slightly in front of him, fingers pointing towards me as if to brace himself against the angry retort he knows is bubbling up in me.

“The Prague coven wanted us to leave. They seemed to think the problem was sorted," I say, shrugging my shoulders. He looks at me skeptically as if to say 'and you believe that?' I huff defensively. "I can't be talking about this with you. I'm not supposed to talk about it at all. I'm not supposed to talk to you at all. This could get me in a heap of trouble, you know."

"We have information that could help you," he responds, leaning forward.

"We? Who's we?" I know the answer. But I want to hear him say it.

"The London vampires. We have our own sources in Prague. The Coven there is at war with itself. They're trying to keep it buttoned up, but it's going to boil over soon enough."

"There's politicking in every coven, that's normal."

"Not like this. Internally, they're completely divided. They were just trying to present a unified face to you and the London Coven because the only thing they can agree on is keeping the news of their conflict from getting out."

I narrowed my eyes, but lifted my chin to signal that he should continue. I had to admit that an alternative explanation for the mission's failure was extremely appealing. I desperately wanted to escape the idea that it had failed solely due to our own incompetence.

 

**Nicky**

“We know who was responsible for those attacks.” She leans towards me, looking disbelieving but obviously interested.

“What? How?” she asks incredulously. ”Why would you even be involved in this?"

“We have reason to believe that the reason the attacks stopped in Prague is that the killer has made his way to London."

She crosses her arms. "Why are you telling me any of this?"

"I want to help you," I say trying to arrange my face into an expression of reasonable concern.

"You mean you want _my_ help. With some vampire dispute that’s none of my business," she spits back, eyes narrowed. She stands up and stalks over to her kitchen counter, busying herself with the tea kettle. “You turn up here in the middle of the night, after all these years..."

"It's not...." I start to say, my voice cracking a tiny bit. "It's not like that, Fi, it's-" she turns to glare at me and my voice gives out again. I should have known better than to call her by her nickname.

"Fiona." I begin again “ the killer has already demonstrated himself to be extremely dangerous. If he plans to continue here what he started in Prague, it could be a disaster!"

"So why not go to the coven? If it's that serious- if people are in danger, then they should be informed." she returns to the table with a plate of biscuits, thumping it down on the table with rather more force than necessary.

This is the tricky part. I try to meet her gaze but can't help glancing evasively to the side momentarily. "It's not a terrific time for the vampire community to be getting negative attention right now." She looks extremely sceptical. "The community is trying to- that is, we're in the process of trying to negotiate with the Coven for improved rights. For vampires."

 _"Vampire rights?”_ She says scornfully.

"Yes, Fiona, vampire rights," I reply testily. This could be going better. "Do you know the coven won't allow us to buy property? Or that Mixed marriages between a vampire and a magician are illegal? And they don't even officially recognize the existence of vampire mages, which is particularly ridiculous." At this she briefly quirks an amused eyebrow.

We believe that if we can come to some sort of agreement with the coven, we can come out of hiding, just live our lives."

"Nicky, your kind _murder_ people and _drink their blood,_ " she says harshly, leaning towards me with her arms still crossed. "Do you really think the coven would ever agree to any of that?"

"Come on Fiona, why do you think I came to you? I thought you would understand," I say pleadingly.

"And why would you think that?" She spits back.

"You of all people! You, who _live_ with a vampire." I retort.

Her eyes narrow. "How do you know Baz lives here?"

"I can smell him," her face darkens and she opens her mouth to protest. I raise a conciliatory hand, "I know he isn't here right now."

"That's different," she says defensively. "Baz didn't choose to be turned! He was just a baby, it wasn't his fault! And he's never killed anyone."

"Do you think most vampires _chose_ to be turned? Yes, I know what you think of my choice. But many of them didn't have the option- they were attacked, just like your nephew."

"Attacked by other vampires." she spits back.

"Ok, fair, there are plenty of bad vampires in the world," I hold up my hand again to concede the point. "What I'm trying to say is that there is a strong contingent of us that are ready for a truce. We can easily live without killing or hurting humans, and we're sick of cowering in the shadows. Don't you want Baz to grow up with the same rights and protections that you and other magicians have? What do you think would happen to him if his secret ever got out? Do you know that in criminal cases, the coven doesn't even allow us to have legal representation? Or to face a jury?"

"You think that's not already my greatest fear?” She exclaims. Her eyes look wide and shiny, and she stops speaking to squeeze her lips together tightly for a moment, then takes a deep breath through her nose. “Of course I’m terrified of what would happen if anyone ever found out!"

"If we could get the coven to agree to some of our demands, it could change everything for us, don't you see? It could change everything for him. There might be a time when people like Baz and me could live out in the open.”

“Baz isn’t like you.” she replies coldly.

That stings. But this is too important, so I bite back my anger- force myself to take a slow breath. “Be that as it may, the Coven won’t care what he’s like if they ever find out he was turned all those years ago. You know they won’t. All they’ll care about is what he is.”

She takes a deep breath and lets it out in a long, slow sigh. And then she nods her head. "So you want my help tracking down this killer before he can stir up trouble and hurt your cause." It's not a question.

"Yes." I say, holding her gaze steady.

"You're asking me to go behind the coven's back. I could lose my job just for speaking to you, you know.”

“Just think it over, alright?” she lets out a long sigh, but nods her head, resigned.

I reach for a pen and write my phone number down on a scrap of paper. “You can reach me at this number. Call me when you make up your mind." She nods, sliding the paper across the table to herself, folding it in half and slipping it into her pocket.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Come on you bloody idiot, no one cares about her. No one will ever care that she’s gone. Just fucking do it!” He was so impatient. I’ll never forget that. He was asking me to take someone’s life, and all he cared about was that I was taking too long about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, if that's what you celebrate! Otherwise, Merry Tuesday.

**Nicky:**

Going to her for help at all was such a long shot. I had almost turned back a half a dozen times when I went to her flat last night. And then standing outside her building I felt like a complete idiot. I was absolutely bluffing when I warned her that someone might see me if she didn’t let me in. I really didn’t think that would work. But it did. 

I staked the place out for hours waiting for her to come home. I thought for a moment that she had seen me when she finally walked up the street because she started acting twitchy, but then she went inside anyway. Then it took me another hour to work up the nerve to ring the bell. Talking to her was like a time warp. It brought back a lot of memories of things that I wish I could forget. 

it was a bloke named Ivan who put the bug in my ear about crossing over. Well, a vampire named Ivan. I met him that summer I spent working in my brother’s bookshop. He went on and on about super strength and super senses, and living forever. "Who cares if your family never speaks to you again?" he said, “Every one of em’ll be dead in 50 years and you’ll have all of eternity ahead of you.” He failed to mention that mages who cross over don’t actually get immortal life. There’s something about the magic that makes that part not work- I don’t know why. I’m not sure anybody does. I’ll probably live longer than I would have otherwise, maybe 20 or 30 years longer. But not forever. Which is a pretty big thing to leave out, if you ask me. 

Well I swallowed it anyway, hook line and sinker. 

When I finally agreed to cross over, he did the deed himself. He bit me. And he drank so much of my blood, I was terrified he was going to kill me. That was the first inkling I had that something was wrong, that maybe I had made a mistake. When he finally pulled back, he just laughed and laughed. I had to cast a healing spell on myself to stop from bleeding out. My fingers were going numb by that point and my hands were so covered in blood I could barely grip the wand, but it worked, thank Crowley.

For the first couple of days I was in so much pain I barely knew what was happening. Ivan kept me at his flat, just left me on the floor in a filthy little back room while the change happened in my body. I only remember flashes from that first week or so- people coming in and out of the flat, light shining through the crack of a doorway, laughter. And the pain, I’ll never forget the pain. A searing, burning, awful agony that I felt acutely in every single inch of every one of my veins.

And then, after seven days of agony, it let up. I woke up and the pain was gone. In it’s place was the thirst. I was so, so thirsty. All I could think about was blood. I was alone in the flat, locked in. I ransacked the place looking for something, anything to drink. Finally, hours later, Ivan came home. He had brought back a stray cat for me to eat- skinny, flea bitten and mean. He let her loose and she tried to hide from me. I was so thirsty that I didn’t even use magic to catch her. I just flipped the couch over, grabbed her and sank my teeth in while she savaged me with her claws. Yeah that’s right. Nicodemus Petty, terrifying vampire super mage had a stray bloody cat for the first meal of his undead life. 

Ivan was a real charmer. He could sell ice to eskimos, as the saying goes. And he hated mages almost as much as he wanted one for his very own. Most vampires hate mages. Its hard to blame them, when you look at all of the horrible things mages have done to vampires over the years. Mages hate vampires, and vampires hate mages. I didn’t know that, at the time, but I found out later. Back then, I thought I was getting the best of both worlds. Instead I ended up with the worst. 

When I say most vampires aren’t actually killers, at least not anymore- I don’t mean Ivan. We can survive on animal blood, but a lot of vampires will tell you that human blood tastes better. Personally I think that’s rubbish- blood is blood and as long as it’s fresh it’s all pretty much the same to me. I never appreciated a fine wine anymore than one that came from a cardboard box either, so maybe that’s my problem. Anyway, Ivan didn’t share that opinion. He had a taste for human blood, and worse than that, he had a taste for killing. 

The first time he took me hunting, we went to King’s Cross after midnight. He said it was a good spot to find someone who wouldn’t be missed. He picked her out- a sad old woman begging for change outside the station. We watched her until she skulked off for the night, followed her back to the alley where she had made a little nest in a an old box behind a dumpster so she’d be hidden if you were just walking past on the street. We crept up on her and he grabbed her by the neck. She didn’t even try to run away- just looked up at him with terrified eyes. He told me to do it. A whole person is more than enough for two vampires to make a meal of, but he wanted me to make the first bite. But I couldn’t look away from her eyes. Her wild, wide eyes. For weeks afterward I still saw them whenever I closed mine. 

“Come on you bloody idiot, no one cares about her. No one will ever care that she’s gone. Just fucking do it!” He was so impatient. I’ll never forget that. He was asking me to take someone’s life, and all he cared about was that I was taking too long about it. 

In the end, I couldn’t. I held her by the shoulders and looked right into her face and the terror and desperation I saw there was more than I could bear. Ivan was egging me on, screaming at me to get on with it, and I just couldn’t fucking do it. I ran away from him then. The beating he gave me when he found me the next night was so savage, I thought for the 2nd time that he was going to kill me. That was when the nagging, persistent sense that had been lingering in the back of my mind hardened into a cold, undeniable truth. I had made a mistake. A very, very big mistake. 

 

**Fiona:**

When I wake up the next morning, I know I have to go to the coven. If this vampire really poses as much of a threat as Nicky thinks he does, then this is way over my head. I’d already made up my mind to go to them and was trying to craft a plausible lie to cover up the fact that I had spoken to Nicodemus- that I’d let him _into my flat_ (christ, what a mistake)- when Baz breezed in the front door. 

“Morning, Fi.” he says, barely glancing at me sitting at the kitchen table as he makes a beeline for the coffee pot. He pours himself a cup and then turns, holding up a brown paper bag, “I brought bagels.” Apparently Simon’s friend Penelope went mad for bagels after spending a summer in America and now she’s got Simon and Baz turned on to them as well. Obviously I had mistrusted her from square one owing to her being Simon Snow’s best friend and all, but I had to admit she’d been right about the bagels thing.

“Excellent.” I reply, holding out both hands towards the bag and waggling my fingers as if I’m trying to summon it to me. 

He tosses me a paper wrapped round, “Everything, toasted.”

“Plain cream cheese?” I ask, unwrapping the paper.

“Obviously,” he rolls his eyes and tosses his hair off of his forehead. 

“Thank you, you’re an absolute legend, Baz.” He rolls his eyes again, but smiling this time. He always gets blueberry with strawberry (I’ve no idea how he orders that without sounding like a prat). “Do you have class today?”

“Stats, at 11.” He moves to sit down opposite me, and a puzzled expression starts to cross his face as he’s halfway into his chair. He looks at me sharply and I can see his nostrils flaring as he breathes in, sniffing the air. Can he _smell_ Nicodemus? Shit, why didn’t I think of that? “Is that...“ he starts to say, then frowns and shakes his head slightly as if to divest himself of the idea. “Nevermind.” 

We chat for a bit about his classes and I try to ask polite questions about Simon. He looks at me like he knows exactly what I’m doing, but decides to play along anyway and tells me about Simon’s plant ecology class assignment to grow potted herbs. Like I said, I’m really trying to get used to the idea of them together, but it hasn’t been easy. Seven years of intense dislike is a lot to get over, though the idea of the two of them fussing over a little rosemary plant is admittedly pretty adorable. Apparently there’s also a basil plant that Simon has named Baz 2, to Baz’s intense annoyance, obviously. 

As he starts to get up from the table I decide to ask the question that’s been bothering me while I have his attention. I doubt I want to talk about it any more than he does, but you’ve got to rip the band aid off and all that. “Baz now that you’re seeing someone I’ve been wondering...” he raises an extremely sceptical eyebrow, "did your parents ever talk to you about, you know….safe sex? Condoms, etc? Or does Watford have some kind of health class these days?” They certainly hadn’t when I’d been there. 

He looks absolutely repulsed. _“Fiona.”_ he says, drawing out each syllable and emphasizing it in that particular tone of voice that seems unique to irritated teenagers. 

I sigh, “look I just want to know that you’re being safe, alright? I know your father doesn’t like to talk about this kind of thing. Especially about your being queer and all that… I thought maybe-“

“All of the freshman at LSE had to go to a mandatory sexual health seminar at the start of term, so you can rest easy,” he interrupts, rolling his eyes. No one can roll their eyes like Baz. It’s as if he’s trying to win an award for best dramatic eye roll.

“Alright, alright,” I say, holding up my hands to concede. “I was just checking. You know you can always ask me if you need…..anything,” I finish lamely. 

He scowls, but it’s a good natured scowl. “I’m going to take a shower.”

No one had ever tried to give me the sex talk. That would have been distinctly un-Pitch-like behavior. Nicky’s sister Ebb had had a roommate with hippie parents- and her mum had sent her to school with a copy of ‘Our Bodies, Ourselves’ which really made the rounds of the girls dorms in 2nd year. And then of course there was 6th year, when my sister had called me into her office to hand a box of condoms across the desk to me. That had been as deeply mortifying as it had been completely necessary. That was the year Nicky had spent his entire holiday break learning a spell that would stop anyone from entering a room by making them suddenly remember something urgent they had to go take care of immediately, whenever they got near the door. We spent a lot of time in empty classrooms that term…

Sixth year. That was our best year, really. Then when term finished, my parents had forced me to spend the summer holidays with my great Aunt Mildred in Oxford, and we didn’t see each other for 6 weeks. When I came back to school that August I was ready to pick up right where we left off but Nicky was…different. 

At first he just seemed distant and distracted. He was an absolute powerhouse mage, but he'd never been a terrific student, even at the best of times. But that year, it was like he didn't even care. He barely went to class, and I don’t think he turned in a single assignment.

He had spent the summer living with his older brother in London and doing an internship in a bookshop specializing in rare magical texts. He said he’d met someone over the holidays, someone a bit older who had been hanging around the bookshop. Apparently this bloke had told him about a way to ‘transcend.' He had been so cagey about the whole thing at first, so secretive. When I finally got it out of him weeks into term that he was planning to go over to the vampires, we’d had a huge fight. I told him the idea was completely mental. He said he’d known I wouldn’t understand, that his new friend had explained everything and it all made sense. The next day he was gone- packed up and left in the middle of the night, just like that. He hadn’t even said goodbye. Not to me, at least.

I only realized later that Ivan must have been a vampire, trying to recruit himself a little magic henchman by spinning a fancy story about superpowers and immortality. And Nicky fell for it. Crowley what an idiot. If Ebb had been with him that summer I don’t think any of it would have happened. She’d always had a funny way of keeping him grounded. 

The thing that got to me the most was what a terrific waste it was. He’d had his whole life ahead of him and he just threw it all away. He could have been anything, he could have done anything. Sometimes I wondered if he’d never gone over, if we would have gotten married. My parents would have pitched such a fit if we had. Everybody always said that if you didn’t meet the person you were going to marry when you were at Watford then you probably never would. I used to laugh my head off at that, but look at me now.

Of course I think it’s fine if you don’t want to get married. There’s nothing wrong with being single. But every once in a while I start to worry that I'm going to end up like Aunt Mildred, living alone in that drafty old house for 50 years with all her cats, and going completely batty. Honestly it’s one of the only reasons I’ve never gotten a cat. That and I don’t really trust myself to keep anything alive.

Baz interrupted my stroll down memory lane when he came back out into the kitchen with wet hair and his school bag slung over one shoulder. My thoughts must have shown on my face because he raised an eyebrow at me and said “What’s wrong with you?” Always the charmer, Baz.

“Oh very nice!” I respond sarcastically. “There’s nothing wrong with me! Except for my irritating nephew asking prying questions.” I throw a biscuit at him. 

“Come off it, you’re the one asking about my sex life you perv!” He catches the biscuit and takes a bite. "But seriously, you look extra pathetic this morning, has Daphne arranged for you to go get makeovers together or something?” He finds his stepmother’s attempts to befriend me as hilarious as I find them annoying.

“It’s nothing,” I lie. "Late night last night, that’s all.” 

“Alright, well I’m going to class. Try not to mope around all day.”

“Har har,” I respond. “Are you staying at Simon’s again tonight?”

“Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow though, he has his work study shift on Wednesday nights.” He grabs the biscuit I’m holding right out of my hand and sticks it between his teeth, even though the package is there on the table, full of biscuits that aren’t on their way to my mouth. “‘’oodbye” he says with his mouth full. 

“Watch out for numpties!” I call to his back as he heads for the door.

Christ, I’m so proud of him. I was worried sick when he disappeared last year. Like literally I made myself sick with worry- apparently you can have so much anxiety that it makes you puke. Malcolm and Daphne were wringing their hands and talking about paying the ransom, but I knew I had to do something. I had to get out there and find him. The upside of being a pathetic layabout is that you can drop everything at a moments notice and throw all your energy into searching for your missing nephew. And find him I did.

I thought he’d be scarred for life after spending 6 weeks alone in that coffin (a _fucking coffin,_ for christ’s sake), but he just bounced back almost like nothing had happened- wouldn’t get out of my car until I agreed to take him back to that stupid school. Then, not two months later, he somehow managed to engage in badass heroics to take down the Mage. Well, ok he was _actually_ trying to save his idiot boyfriend but he did uncover the Mage’s involvement in Natasha’s death and the prick ended up dead either way. Top of his class at Watford of course, even after all that. Now he’s probably going to ace all of his classes at uni while bright young co-eds swoon hopelessly after him wherever he goes. 

I’m so proud of him, and I’m so afraid for him. Can he really keep his secret hidden forever? If anyone on the coven found out, it would be a disaster. He’d probably lose his wand, and honestly that would be best case scenario. I don’t even want to think about the worst case.

His whole life, I’d thought of his being a vampire as his unfortunate ‘condition.’ Baz isn’t evil- he isn’t a dark creature. He would never kill anyone. I’d never thought much about the wider implications of that, though. If Baz was a vampire, and Baz wasn’t bad, did that mean there were other vampires who weren’t bad either? And what would it mean for Baz if he didn’t have to live in hiding? If he was allowed to exist? That was what Nicky wanted. And the prick knew exactly how to get what he wanted from me, apparently. He found my soft underbelly and jabbed his finger right into it. 

I’m a pretty tough bitch. I don’t mean to brag, that’s just the way it is. Not much can scare me, or throw me off my game. Not since my sister died.

I didn't want to ever hurt so badly again as I did when Natasha died. Back then, the grief had felt like a gaping wound, not just in my heart but in my whole chest, in my whole torso. I ached and ached and ached. Everyone wanted to tell me how sorry they were, and I didn't want to hear it. Because none of them could understand. I'd never have another sister. And she would never be there for me again. The rest of my life seemed like a long list of things she wouldn't be there for- my first job, my next broken heart, every Christmas for the rest of my life. 

I began to count out all the future deaths I might have to endure, all the grief I would have to feel again, and I knew I couldnt face it. I decided that the trick to never feeling that way again, was never to love anyone that much again. When Natasha died, I hardened my grief around myself like a rigid plastic shell. Like the plexiglass they keep the gorillas behind at the zoo. I could see out through it, and other people could see in. But they couldn't get inside, no one could get to me. No one could hurt me. 

The only person I ever let inside my shell was Baz. I did actually try to keep him out, at first. But how do you lock out a 5 year old? With a runny nose and sticky fingers, and mismatched clothes because his father was dressing him. I think Baz was the only one who hurt more than me when his mother died. He was so lost, he didn't understand what had happened. And he didn't understand what would happen, when the thirst finally came on him. So he crept in under my shell, and I let him stay, in the end. Baz is the only person I love. And I'll never let anyone hurt him. 

I sigh, digging in my dressing gown pocket for the little folded piece of paper. I find it, unfold it, and study the digits scrawled on it in a spindly hand. And then I pick up my phone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wonder if she realizes the effect she has on me. She must know. I take a deep steadying breath, she smells like whisky and cherries and something else I can’t quite place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! This chapter was inspired by Mara Miranda's fantastic fan art:
> 
> https://mara-miranda.tumblr.com/image/179176157913

**Nicky**  
When I heard her voice on the other end of the phone, I had to fight to keep the joy out of mine. I hadn’t thought she would call. 

Sal’s is one of our places- but it’s not my usual haunt. It’s a lot quieter than the Melchior, which is where her nephew and his little friend-- the one who leaked magic like a pot boiling over, found me last year. But quiet is good, this is a private conversation. And you don’t bring a human to a place like that, anyway. It’s poor form.

She didn’t want me coming by her flat again and I really didn’t want her to see mine. I’ve been living in the same grotty studio for the last 4 years or so, and before that, a different grotty studio. I haven’t had a nice place in years. Well, not since Ellie. Not since it all went south. 

See, when I decided to cross over, I thought my one way ticket to power and glory had just been punched. What actually happened was a hell of a lot less glamorous. I spent the first few weeks cowering in Ivan’s shadow while I tried to figure out how to be a vampire. My body had changed- it was a bit like recovering from a head trauma and having to relearn how to do everyday tasks again. I wasn’t used to my new strength and speed, and I kept breaking things and busting myself up until I learned to control it. I also had gained the senses of a predator overnight. Dealing with the sudden influx of sounds, smells, and sights was jarring to say the least. And the thirst. I had an overwhelming, seemingly insatiable desire for blood. Doing anything besides feeding that desire was difficult at first. It was some time before the haze of it began to clear and I could think rationally again. That was when I saw my situation clearly for the first time, and knew I had to get out from under Ivan’s thumb. 

Escaping from him wasn’t easy- he was a master manipulator, and far older and stronger than I was. But he had underestimated how powerful my magic was, and when I finally made the decision to strike out on my own, he couldn’t stop me. But that’s a tale for another day. 

After that, I spent the first couple of years living on the streets, just trying to stay alive from one day to the next, hunting pigeons and rats, trying desperately to convince myself that it hadn’t all been a huge mistake. Eventually I landed more or less on my feet- started making some money cheating at cards and running errands for people more powerful than me. I still wasn’t the supervillain I dreamed I was going to be. Hell, when it came down to it I had never even gotten up the nerve to do the deed. I’ve still never bitten anyone. But at least I was staying alive from one day to the next. 

And then one day, she sashayed into my life. I was in the back room of the bar as usual, counting cards and trying to convince Big Jay to cut me in on a job he was running. 

She was a waitress. Brand new, but not taking any cheek from anyone. Some fool at the next table tried to cop a feel and asked if _she_ was on the menu. Her fangs snapped right out, and she poured a drink onto him, quick as you please. Nearly broke his arm too, judging by the look on his face as she removed his hand from her backside. I think I fell in love right then and there, watching her tip that beer over his head.

She was little- probably 6 inches shorter than me. But she had big curves. And big, black, larger than life hair that made her look like a brunette Dolly Parton. Like an idiot, I tried impressing her by spelling the drinks off her tray when she brought them over to our table. Lucky for me, it worked. Because Ellie loved magic. Most other vampires hated magic, but Ellie, she couldn’t get enough of it. I used to cast spells just for her pleasure. Her favorite was a little bird told me. You can use that as a hunting spell, it calls birds to you- mostly pigeons. But I discovered that if you inflect the words a certain way, it summons songbirds specifically. Ellie would open the window and they would land right on the sill and hop about, chirping. She loved to watch them. She had names for them all, and she never let me eat one either. I used to call her my little Wren.

I think the time I was with Ellie might have been the only time I've ever been truly happy, since I crossed over. 

“Good morning, darling,” she’d always say when she woke me up. Of course it was never morning- most vampires live their lives on the graveyard shift- but she would kiss me and brush the hair out of my eyes and then jump up before I could grab hold of her and try to keep her in bed a little longer. We had a little flat together above the bar, and we were happy. She worked the bar, and I ran my deals. And for a while, it seemed like maybe life had something planned for me after all. But of course then it all went to shit, like everything always does. 

Crowley, she was such a hot head, a real live wire. I had loved that about her. But it was her downfall in the end. Even after I tried to tell them it was all a mistake, she didn’t mean to do it, it wasn’t her fault. As if they would have listened. So I lost Ellie, and then when I thought I couldn’t possibly have anything else left to lose, they took the rest too. They took everything away from me. 

I wait outside for Fi, she won’t be able to get in without me. I’m early, even though I know she’ll be late. I didn’t mean to be early, that’s not my usual style. But I woke up around 8, and I couldn’t seem to think about anything except getting to the bar and I got so antsy that I just left. Then I spent the next 15 minutes pacing around outside telling myself that I’m excited that she wants to help, and not just because I’m going to see her again. 

When she finally walks down the alley, I see she’s wearing a leather jacket with a short red slip dress under it, and a little part of me wonders if she put the dress on for me, before I stamp down hard on that part. She strolls up to me and then stops just short, cocking a black eyebrow “Well?” she says. I open the door.

Sal’s is the kind of dive you can find in any city. The lights are dim, and the floor is sticky and crowded with beat up old tables. The walls are dirty and papered with old adverts. Booths upholstered in cracked brown pleather line the outside of the room, and in the center is the rectangular bar, ringed with stools. 

The bartender looks up as we enter. I nod at him and then usher Fiona inside with my hand hovering over, not quite touching, the small of her back. He nods back. The place is nearly empty- just a couple of rough looking older blokes at a corner booth who look like it’s been a while since their last good meal. I steer her to the end of the bar opposite the bartender, and pull a stool out for her. She peers at me like I’ve grown an extra head.

“You pulling chairs out for ladies, now?”

“You a lady, now?” I retort, and she laughs. It breaks the ice. She slips off her jacket and hangs it over the back of the barstool, and Crowley she looks good in that dress. It’s bright red and hanging from her shoulders off of skinny straps. It’s kind of loose and isn’t cut very low, but it looks sexy as hell somehow anyway. We both sit and I have to tear my gaze away from her hemline, which crept up her thighs alarmingly when she sat down, revealing a small black line tattoo of a flame on her left leg a good 10 inches above the knee. She definitely didn't have that when we were in school. Not for the first time this week, I get the feeling that I’m playing with fire.

I catch the bartender's eye and he makes his way towards us. She asks for an old fashioned, I order a whiskey on the rocks. “So.” I say after he’s walked back to the other end of the bar.

“So.” she responds.

“You called.”

“I thought about what you said,” she begins, twirling a bit of her hair around one finger and pursing her lips.

“And?”

“And I want to know what you know about Prague. And because I suppose- I suppose I think that you might be right….” she trails off, glancing away, “that this could be important for Baz.” I figured she hadn’t wanted to meet just to tell me to fuck off. “I’m not saying I’ll help, but I’ll hear what you have to say.”

I let out a sigh of relief. The bartender chooses that moment to bring our drinks over, and neither of us says anything for a moment. Fiona watches him set the drinks down and walk away with a critical eye. I know of him- our community is small enough that everybody knows who most everyone else is- but I wouldn’t call him a friend. He’s a tall, solidly built man in a white apron and collared shirt. His head is completely bald, and he looks to be about 40 though he could be any age. “Is he…ah…?” she trails off.

“A vampire?” I finish for her. “Yeah. This is one of our places. You can’t get in here if you’re not, or if you’re not with one.” She glances around, taking in the rest of the bar. There’s a thin, ratty looking woman drinking alone in the far corner that I hadn’t noticed initially, in addition to the two men in the booth. “Don’t worry, you’re safe here as long as you’re with me.”

“I reckon I’d be safe with our without you,” she says witheringly. I nod my acknowledgement. “So. Tell me what you know about our investigation.”

"The attacks in Prague were being carried out by a vampire named Jozka Novotný.” I say.

"Novotný?" she repeats. "Isn't there a Novotný on the coven in Prague?"

"The Novotnýs are one of the oldest magic families in the Czech Republic. Surely you met or at least heard of Petr Novotný while you were there? He's very powerful on the coven. They have some complicated ranking system there- I don't know exactly what the title is, but I think it's equivalent to being a sort of second in command to their chief Mage."

"Of course." she say, comprehension dawning on her face. "Yes, he was there. He rarely spoke in any of the meetings. He voted in favor of halting the investigation and sending us back! Are you saying that this Jozka is related to a member of the Prague coven?" She asks, looking shocked by the suggestion, “why didn't they bloody tell us? That seems like a pretty critical piece of information!"

"Petr is his uncle. His parents were killed during the goblin uprising in '95 when he was 3. You remember?" she nods. A lot of Czech mages had lost their lives during that conflict, we had learned about it in school. "Petr never married or had any children of his own, but he took in his nephew after his brother's death and raised him as his heir."

"So you're saying that this Jozka is also a mage? How was he turned, what happened?" Vampire attacks on mages were rare enough that she would have heard about it if there had been one, even in a completely different country. The attack on Watford that had resulted in her sisters death had certainly been discussed in magical communities worldwide.

"He went over.” I say, meeting her gaze head on. "Apparently there was always something..." I pause, searching for the right word “ _off_ about Jozka Novotnýs. Even before he was turned. There were rumors about him, that he was was particularly….intense." 

She raises an eyebrow. "So what are you saying, the Prague Coven knew who was responsible all along?”

"Of course they knew. There was never any question. When Jozka crossed over, he didn’t keep it a secret. Now half the Prague Coven is calling for him to be hunted down, but the Novotnýs have closed ranks. Everyone knows Jozka is behind the attacks, but Petr and his followers have totally denied it and refused to take action. That's why the opposing faction called in help from the London coven. They didn't actually need help investigating the murders- they were just trying to force Petr's hand. If he didn't want his son to be outed publicly by your investigation he would have had to act of his own accord to take his nephew in hand."

"Which he did, presumably. The attacks stopped." she says, clearly trying to find the catch in all of this.

"For now." I say, "they've stopped for now."

“Well seeing as there hasn’t been another death in weeks, and the Prague Coven doesn’t want us sniffing around anymore, what does it matter?"

“The Prague mages may not consider this their problem anymore."

"Why not?" she asks.

"Because Jozka Novotnýs has been spotted in London.” Her eyes go wide.

“How do you know? Was he seen? How do you know it was him?” She asks suspiciously.

"You have to understand- I know your lot thinks we're just a bunch of disorganized killers running around London after dark, but it's a lot more complicated than that. When he showed up here it set off some alarms. You can't just waltz into our territory- it doesn't work that way. We have rules, you know."

She looks amused. "What, like feral cats fighting over territory?"

I make a face. "Very funny. He was hunting in an off-limits zone. Two of our kind confronted him, asked why he hadn't presented himself to the Master"

"Your vampire head man?" she asked.

"Yes. That's traditionally how it's done. You can move to a new area if you like, but you have to present yourself and learn the rules of the territory, that sort of thing." 

"So he just showed up, then?" She's leaned back in her chair but obviously thinking hard, one leg crossed over the other, her chin in her hand.

"Yes, a couple of folks I know- Solomon and Faye- found him skulking around somewhere he shouldn’t have been. When they confronted him, he went totally mental. They tried to fight him off, but Faye said he was all but unstoppable."

"Vampires are supposed to have super strength though, right?" She asks, leaning forward again and looking at me appraisingly.

"Yes but even we have our limits. She said it didn't even seem like he was trying. He…. he broke both of her arms." I'm not sure how to convey the abject terror I had seen in Faye's eyes when she had recounted the story to me. "He threw her against a brick wall.” 

“And the other one? Solomon? What kind of name is Solomon?” she scoffs.

“Sol? It’s an old name. He was very old.”

“Was?” She raises her eyebrows.

“Jozka killed him.” Her eyebrows stay raised, at that, and she lets out a long, slow breath. 

I decide to back track a bit and ask her about the mission to Prague. She fills me in on the details of the trip. I can tell by her tone how frustrating it had been. Three students had been found dead on campus, their drained corpses left out in the night to be discovered in the morning. They had examined the bodies, and it was clear what had killed them. She showed me a photo on her mobile- a close up of two small puncture wounds on a blue-white neck. As if I didn’t already know what that looks like. But that was where the trail went cold- there were no witnesses, the body of the 4th student never turned up, and no one was talking. Vampires in every city have their spots just like this one- underground bars where we can meet secretly, safely. Finding out where those places are isn’t all that difficult if you know who to ask, but you need an in, someone to introduce you. A human can’t just waltz in and start asking questions. I’m not surprised to hear that no one wanted to talk. They left the city with barely more knowledge than they had arrived with. 

No vampire in their right mind leaves a body behind like that unless they _want_ to signal their presence. And we don’t ever want to signal that. Vampires live in the shadows, we can only thrive where we exist in secret. Once the fear of us descends upon a city, the streets will empty after dark. When rumors start spreading that there's a killer on the loose, the bars empty, the sidewalks clear, and the shutters close. Of course such a thing hasn’t happened in London in my lifetime. Probably not for a hundred years. These days most of us could hardly be considered killers, anyway. The relative morality of murder aside, the modern world is simply not an easy place to get away with it. In the old days of London, death was already everywhere. Easy enough to just slip your dinner in amongst all the rest of it. At least that’s what I’m told. But nowadays it’s not so easy, not now that there’s google, and surveillance footage and missing persons reports.

For a vampire to make their presence know, to _want_ to make it known- that takes a special breed. It doesn’t happen often, because ultimately it is suicide. Not only does it clear prey off of the streets (for that minority of us who still feed primarily on humans), but it is also certain to bring the wrath of the mages after us. As long as we keep a low profile, the world of mages can be counted on to tolerate our kind, to a point. Of course we are still subject to their harassment, but we aren’t actively hunted. At least not anymore, not since the Magegot offed last winter. If the Coven got wind of open killings, though, they’d come down on us like a hammer. 

“So the Prague mages just told you to leave?” I ask. 

“Yes. We had been meeting weekly to present our progress to a subset of Coven members- a sort of a dark creatures subcommittee. They always listened politely, gave vague answers to all of our questions, and sent us on our way with orders to keep at it. It was maddening. Then one day we were called before the entire Coven, and they told us that they were satisfied with our work, and wanted us to return to London. We tried to argue- they wouldn’t hear a word of it. I was getting pretty hacked off-“ 

I interrupt with a laugh, “you, lose your temper? I don’t believe it!”

“Oh shut up,” she snaps back, but good naturedly. “But yes, I may have been in danger of causing an international incident if the others hadn’t been holding me back.”

“So what happened?” I ask, noticing that her drink is empty and signaling to the bartender for another round.

“Well, nothing. We gave in, didn’t we? It was pretty clear they weren’t going to budge on continuing the investigation, so we just packed up and came home. That was 3 days ago.” 

Neither of us speaks for a moment as the bartender sets the glasses down in front of us. 

“So.” she picks up her drink. “Now he’s here. Are you absolutely sure it’s the same bloke, this Jozka?”

“Yes.we have our connections in the Prague vampire community. News like this travels fast. The Prague Coven was obviously keeping you lot in the dark, but like I said- they knew what was going on all along, they just wanted to force his uncle’s hand, force him to get Jozka under control or get rid of him. Our kind were eager for that too. Contrary to popular belief, vampires don’t usually go on killing sprees. It means bad news for all of us when someone goes rogue. The Czech vampires wanted him taken care of, too.”

She nods. “And now you’re afraid that he’ll cause the same problems here.”

“Exactly. That kind of behavior would be disastrous for us at any time, never mind that we’re trying to open diplomatic negotiations.”

She screws up her face skeptically. “Diplomatic negotiations?”

“Don’t laugh. This has been brewing for a long time. We think the time is finally right to act. This is the best opening we’ve had in years.”

“What do you mean, ‘opening?'” she asks, leaning towards me and resting her forearm on the bar.

“Well, we haven’t had an opportunity like this in decades, have we? The Mage would have rejected any discussion of vampire rights outright. It would never have even been on the table. We think that with the Mage gone and the Coven still trying to reorganize itself in the wake of his death, we have a real chance.”

“This sounds very organized” 

“Yes. I’ve been working with a small organizing group for several years now. It started out as just a conversation- about the way things could be. Eventually it became more than a conversation- we started to plan, to strategize how we could achieve some of our goals. We drafted a document stating our demands, and we have gotten the approval of the majority of the vampires in the London community to take it to the Coven.”

She looks surprised, and a little skeptical “What like you all voted on it? How many of you are there, even?”

“No, we didn’t vote on it, don’t be silly.” I roll my eyes.

“But what do you mean, you all approved it? And you didn’t answer my other question.”

“How many of us are there?” that’s a dangerous question. I look around to make sure that the bartender isn’t listening and lower my voice. "I can’t tell you that. I don’t know myself- it’s a closely guarded secret.” She cocks an eyebrow at me, supremely unconvinced. “I mean it. I don’t know. I have my guesses, but we’re really not allowed to say. I mean _really_.” 

Her eyebrows are raised so high they’re threatening to disappear into her hairline, but I had her interest piqued, before. And the last thing I want is to lose her right now. I sigh and lean in closer, just a bit. “I’d guess around 500. There used to be more of us. Before that prick declared open season on vampires.”

“What, the Mage?”

“Yes of course the Mage. He made up his own rules when it came to governing us. I think he liked to hunt vampires for sport. But you did not hear any of this from me.” She frowns and opens her mouth like she’s about to speak. I don’t give her the chance. "I mean it Fiona. Talking to someone like you about this- about any of this- is a very serious breach. I would be in deep shit if people knew.”

“Alright, alright,” she holds her hands up in surrender. “So your secret number of vampires all agreed on this list of demands in some secret creepy manner. Now what are these demands?”

“Well first of all, there’s the stuff I mentioned yesterday- we want to be granted the same status as Mages when it comes to criminal cases. We want a jury and a right to a proper defense,” telling her the least controversial of our demands first seems like the right start. “We want to be allowed to marry, and we want an end to the policy of striking vampire mages from the record.” 

She nods, her lips pursed in a knowing expression. “You want your identity back.”

“Yes. I do. And I’m not the only one. I want to be able to talk to my family again. And there are some who want to be allowed to feed on humans who consent.”

She snorts derisively, “the coven would never agree to that.”

“We can feed without killing or turning people, people who are willing. It happens all the time. Some vampires want it made legal.” She wrinkles her nose and curls her lip, her disgust plain. “I didn’t say all of us, but it is happening."

"And we think that any vampire child with magic should be allowed to attend Watford.” Her disgust turns to wide-eyed shock, and then she lifts her chin and scowls. 

“That is absurd. People’s _children_ go there, Nicky.” She’s shaking her head.

“We know that one is a tough sell, but the mage has actually paved the way for this- other creatures are allowed to attend now- pixies, centaurs.” 

“Pixies and centaurs aren’t dark creatures, Nicky. The coven would never allow vampires to attend Watford. It would be far too dangerous!” She shakes her head emphatically.

“Do you even hear yourself? it’s already happened!” Now I’m shaking my head as well. I grip the bar with my free hand in frustration.

She puts her hands up defensively, palms out, “alright, yes, I’ll give you that. But that doesn’t mean the coven isn’t going to laugh you out of the room when you suggest it. Actually, I think laughter might be your best case scenario.”

“I know that some of our ideas are more controversial than others. We have to start somewhere.” She still looks unconvinced, but I forge ahead anyway. “The time is right for us to make our case. The Mage is gone, and we know that there are some sympathetic ears on the Coven. We’ve been putting out feelers over the last couple of months to gauge public opinion and it’s looking like we might have a fighting chance.” I pause, and swirl the ice once around my glass, slowly. “Besides, one of the most prominent old families has every reason to support us.” I look at her, raising my eyebrows.

She looks confused, and then comprehension dawns. “What, us?” she asks, “are you off your head? Malcolm would never support this.”

“Are you so sure? Can’t you see how important it would be for Baz? If we can start to make progress on these issues, there could be a time when he might even live openly. When we might all live openly” 

“This is ridiculous. You know that no one will ever agree to this, right? It’s a complete pipe dream.” she shakes her head and lets out an angry sigh. 

I breathe in sharply, feeling a bit like I’ve just been slapped, but I hold the breath and count in my head slowly, silently to 5. This is too important, I have to win her over. 

“When did you become a politician, eh?” she asks abruptly, looking back up at me with her head cocked to the side. “I never would have pegged you for the type.”

“A lot has changed since we were kids, Fi.” I run my tongue along my gums self consciously, feeling the spot where my fangs should be. I think again of the day they dragged me before the Mage. The disgust in his eyes. I wasn’t even allowed to speak in my own defense. It was all over in a few minutes, but every detail, every moment of that day is burned into my memory, seared into my brain. The part where they pinned me down and pulled them out still replays in my nightmares. I’ve never stopped thinking of it for a single day. Was I supposed to just lie down after that and spend the rest of my life cowering? 

I try to keep the dark thoughts off of my face, but I can tell I don’t succeed because she stays silent for several moments, looking at me appraisingly. I let the silence spin out between us and wait for her to pick up the thread. She does.

“Well, I reckon Baz can take care of himself well enough,” she says abruptly. I remember the handsome, cocky boy who flicked his cigarette at me last winter, and I’m inclined to agree. “And if he can’t, his bloody boyfriend's liable to decapitate anything that threatens him.”

“Boyfriend?” I ask. There’s a surprise. “That boy he brought with him to the Melchior last year?” She looks blank, so I elaborate, “reddish hair, smelled like smoke?" Tossing threats around and sounding like he was prepared to back them up, I don’t add. Smoky, sticky, magic leaking out of him in hot little waves. The two of them had terrified me that night, but I’ll never let it show. Not to them, and not to her.

She laughs out loud, her jangly, musical little laugh. “Baz brought Simon Snow with him to a vampire bar? Of course he did, the bloody idiot.” 

So it had been him. I’d thought so. Her laughter is infectious, “Simon Snow. As in, the-artist-formerly-known-as-chosen?” 

She snorts, grinning. “That’s the one!”

“Boyfriend? How did that even happen? I mean, I would have guessed at more of a sworn enemies type of relationship…” I trail off, chuckling. 

“Thats the thing, though. They were! For years!” Her face screws up with laughter.

“So what happened? Were they dueling and Baz slipped and fell onto his mouth accidentally?”

She laughs even harder, collapsing forward slightly and gripping the bar. “I don’t know!” She gasps, “I honestly have no idea. They spent 6 years at each others throats and then apparently last year Simon just showed up to the house during the Christmas holidays.”

“At Pitch Manor? Had he lost his mind?” I interrupt. I’d been round for tea more than once back when we were kids and had found it bloody intimidating. And I hadn’t been a sworn enemy of the family, just a desperately unsuitable boyfriend. 

She shrugs incredulously and continues. "Malcolm _actually thought_ Baz had some kind of elaborate secret plot on the go, but it turned out they were just up in Baz’s bedroom snogging the whole time.” 

The thought of Fiona’s stiff, formal brother-in-law trying to make polite chit chat with the Mage’s heir over Christmas dinner is so hilarious it almost sends me over the edge. “What he had no idea? None at all?” I mime someone knocking on a bedroom door "'do you boys need anything?’” 

She imitates Baz’s stiff tone “No father, we’re very busy studying just now, but please have Vera send up some condoms.” Her impression of him is spot on. “Malcolm's still in denial about the whole thing, I think. I had to get the story from Baz’s stepmum. They were roommates, at Watford I mean. Baz and Simon."

“Roommates? Well that actually doesn’t seem like it should be allowed! Bit of an unfair advantage, isn’t it?” 

She doesn’t even bother to answer me, just laughs harder. Tears of hilarity are streaming own her cheeks and I nearly fall off my stool, I’m laughing so hard. My thoughts flash back to all the sneaking around she and I did to be alone when we were at Watford. If we could have just had our own room, we wouldn’t have had to spend so much time looking for empty classrooms….

“Well, they say opposites attract, don’t they,” I remark after I've caught my breath again. 

“Yeah I suppose so. Actually, before they started dating I could hardly get Baz to shut up about how irritating Snow was. Which should have been a clue, maybe.” she says, still chuckling and wiping tears away from under each eye with her index fingers. “I’m glad he’s happy, but I’m still trying to wrap my head around it.”

Crowley, it’s so good to talk to her. She tells me about Baz, then. How much he reminds her of her sister. How he moved in with her this fall when he started uni. I can’t help but feel jealous. At his age I was living on the streets, just hoping to stay alive from one day to the next, hunting rats, trying desperately to convince myself I hadn’t made a huge mistake. There was no graduation day for me, no cozy flat in Chelsea. 

The bartender must have seen her nearly empty glass because he comes by again and raises his eyebrows, “'nother drink, miss?”

She looks at me and cocks an eyebrow. I’m trying to decipher whether or not she wants to stay for another. I do, desparately. I don’t want her to see that though, so I shrug noncommittally. “alright then,” she says and nods at him. I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath until I let it out. 

I look down at the bar, and when I look up again I have one of those moments where all the drinks hit me at once. The world has gone a bit fuzzy around the edges and I feel wobbly on my barstool. 

I glance back over at Fiona, and her neck and arms and shoulders look like an ocean of white flesh to me. It almost feels obscene. I can’t look away. I want to lean in and put my hands around her waist and breathe her in. I want to kiss her. I want to peel that red dress off over her head.

She tips her glass back over her mouth to finish it. When she gets to the bottom, she fishes out the cherry by the stem and eats it. I wonder if she realizes the affect she has on me. She must know. I take a deep steadying breath, she smells like whisky and cherries and something else I can’t quite place. 

She reaches into her jacket pocket and pulls out a box of fags. She slips one out and gestures with it, “can I smoke in here?”

“You can,” I say hesitantly, “but nobody ever does…” she's lighting up before I finish the sentence. 

She holds the pack out to me, offering.

“I quit,” I say, thinking that should have been obvious. I watch the glowing end of her cigarette warily.

She laughs, and she puts her hand on my forearm. She’s so warm. I wonder if she notices how cold I am. “Don’t you miss it?” she asks, leaning in towards me. Then she blows the smoke out gently and I inhale deeply without taking my eyes off of hers. 

“Of course I do.” Her hand is still resting on my arm, and she’s _so_ close. Her knee brushes mine. I breathe in again, holding eye contact with her. The silence spools out between us, and I feel like a python, transfixed by a snake charmer. She could pick me up by my belt loops right now and carry me off to anywhere she wanted to. I don’t think I could tear my eyes away from her face even if the bar started going up in flames.

And then, just like that, she’s leaning back against the barstool again, glancing down to ash her cigarette, and the spell is broken.

“Well that seems like very unhealthy behavior, doesn’t it?” I look at her blankly. “Can’t have you falling off the wagon, can we?” she holds up the fag to demonstrate her meaning.

“You’re the one who just blew smoke in my face!” I say indignantly.

“Yes well, I’m not flammable, am I?” She retorts.

“That’s not going to stop you from getting cancer,” I say testily.

“Touché"

She takes another deep drag and blows it out slowly, this time away from me. Then she meets my eyes, looking resigned. “Alright, yes. I’m in.”

“So you’ll help us?” I ask, sipping my drink.

“I will,” she says, swirling the ice in hers. “But not because I support your little vampire bill of rights. I don’t think that has a snowball’s chance in hell. But I don’t like leaving unfinished business. Prague hired us to catch this bastard. Just because they didn’t actually want us to doesn’t mean I don’t feel like I didn’t finish the job.”

I smile. “Good.” 

“So how will I know? The bat signal projected over the skies of Gotham city?"

“I was planning on just ringing your mobile, actually.” 

When we leave I try to insist on walking her home, but she just laughs at me, and totters off on her heels, her pale legs shining in the moonlight.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He’s not answering!” he cries, fear and frustration in his voice. He removes his mobile from his ear and immediately redials, shrugging into his jacket. “I have to go,” he says not looking at me while he shoves the remainder of his books into his bag and hefts it, “I have to find Simon!” 
> 
> “Baz,” I say in what I hope is a soothing voice. I hold my hand up, keyring dangling from one finger, and jangle the keys at him, “we’ll take the MG.”

**Fiona**

I’m lying on the sofa with the curtains drawn the next morning when Baz comes strolling in looking fresh as a daisy. 

He takes in my dressing gown and the blister packet of paracetamol on the coffee table, and says brightly “Morning, sunshine!” 

“Nnngh” I reply. I don’t bother pointing out that it’s not morning at all, but closer to 3pm. When I woke up a couple of hours ago, it felt like every single one of my teeth was wearing it’s own mohair sweater. The pounding in my head has finally subsided by this point, but I figured it was going to take me at least another hour on the couch before I was capable of facing the day. Fuck, I never could hold my liquor. I should have taken it slower. No wonder I started blathering on about my idiot nephew and the chosen boyfriend. 

“Big night last night?” he asks. “You do know it’s the middle of the week, right?” As if that’s ever stopped me before.

“I’m a grown woman, I can drink on a Tuesday if I want.” He flips on the television and I get up off the sofa, groaning. “Turn that down,” I grumble as I head for the kitchen and pour myself another cup of coffee, calling back “listen boyo, we have the same genes, you know. And this hangover runs in the family. You can tease me all you like but one of these days this is going to start happening to you and you won’t be laughing then.”

When I come back into the room he’s draped himself over the armchair next to the sofa and is absorbed in his mobile. I settle back in on the couch and flip through the channels. Of course, there’s nothing but rubbish daytime television on. I give up and toss the remote back onto the coffee table. 

“Don’t you have to go to work or something?” Baz asks without looking up from his screen.

“And miss spending time with my charming nephew? Actually I'm between cases at the moment.” It’s true, we’d been told to take a few days off after the mission to Prague and wait for orders. My work with the Coven isn’t exactly a full time gig, anyway. It’s more like I’m on call for a fight. When no trouble is brewing, I’m off the clock. “Don’t you have class or something?”

“Already went,” he sighs, “done for the day.” I suggest we order a late lunch and we bicker over whether to get curry or sushi. He wins. For a person who drinks fresh blood, you’d think he’d be more enthusiastic about raw food. When the food comes, I ask him to get my wallet out of the pocket of my leather jacket, which I left crumpled on the floor next to his chair last night when I came in. When I return to the living room with the plastic bag of takeout, he’s still holding the jacket in front of him with one hand, and looking at me with an extremely sceptical expression on his face.

“I thought you said you were between cases.” he say, tone suspicious. 

“What are you talking about?” I ask carefully, setting the bag down gingerly on the coffee table.

“You know I can smell them,” he replies, his eyes narrowing. 

I try to play it casual, returning to the kitchen for plates and calling over my shoulder in what I hope is a flippant tone “what, fags?”

“You know what I’m talking about.” he says tersely. I open the bag and begin spooning rice and curry onto a plate, avoiding his eyes.

“It’s just work, Baz.” I say, and hand him the plate. He ignores me and holds the jacket up to his face, inhaling.

“This smells like _him_ Fiona.” My stomach lurches and I purse my lips, setting his plate on the table next to him. 

“like who?” I ask, spooning food onto the second plate and continuing to look determinedly away from his gaze. 

“I thought I smelled him in here the other day. Now I’m sure of it. Don’t lie to me!” He shakes the jacket at me accusingly. His tone makes me angry, and I drop the charade. 

“Who I see is not your business, Basilton,” I snap and meet his heated look with my own furious one. He may live here now, but I’m still his Aunt, not his roommate. And I wouldn’t be a Pitch if I didn’t know how to remind someone of their place. It works, and an abashed expression flicks across his face for a moment. 

“But….what are you doing with him? Nicodemus Petty.” His tone is more civil this time, but the contempt comes through in Nicky’s name. “Did he break a law?”

“No, no.” I say, running my hand through my hair and wracking my brain for a believable excuse. I settle on some version of the truth. “He’s just helping with a case, is all. He had some information for me.” He narrows his eyes suspiciously but seems to buy the story, for now. It’s true enough, anyway.

He picks up the plate of curry, but looks me over appraisingly before picking up a fork. “You’d tell me if you were in any sort of trouble, wouldn’t you?”

“Everything is fine, don’t be ridiculous.” The suspicious look doesn’t leave his face, but mercifully he drops the subject. Christ, I can’t believe his nose. Am I going to have to start getting everything dry cleaned now?

After we eat, Baz pulls out his books and looks to be settling in for a study session. I heave myself off the couch and begin to do a bit of tidying. I’m gathering up dishes from the kitchen table when I hear him call my name from the living room, his voice sounding high and frightened. I set the dishes down and stride back into the living room. He’s standing in front of the television, the remote clutched in one hand. “What is it?” I ask, my brows furrowed in confusion.

In response, he lifts the remote and points it at the television set, repeatedly pressing a button with his thumb. A female newscaster's voice rises in volume to fill the silence as I turn to gaze at the screen, “body was found late this morning on the Imperial College London’s South Kensington campus. The identity of the victim has not yet been released, but he is believed to have been a student at the university. At this time, foul play is suspected, and police are urging caution. The dean of students has issued a campus-wide curfew of 10pm for all students, affective immediately.” She moves on to a story about a traffic pileup in South London, and Baz turns to me, face stricken. 

“Basil, I’m sure it can’t be-“ I begin to say, before he cuts me off.

“I have to find Simon!” he shouts, beginning to gather up this things and shove them back into his schoolbag. 

“Baz, I’m sure he’s fine,” I say quietly, he ignores me. “Basilton.” I repeat, louder. “why don’t you call his mobile.” He exhales loudly and tosses his bag violently to the floor, reaching into his pocket for his mobile. I know somehow that Simon isn’t going to answer even before Baz puts the phone to his ear, so I walk over to the bedroom to put on my shoes, and then retrieve my keys from the hook in the kitchen where I hung them the night before. When I return to the living room, Baz is pacing around the room, his expression frantic and the phone crushed against his face. 

“He’s not answering!” he cries, fear and frustration in his voice. He removes his mobile from his ear and immediately redials, shrugging into his jacket. “I have to go,” he says not looking at me while he shoves the remainder of his books into his bag and hefts it, “I have to find Simon!” 

“Baz,” I say in what I hope is a soothing voice. I hold my hand up, keyring dangling from one finger, and jangle the keys at him, “we’ll take the MG.”

* * *

On the drive across the city, Baz is too beside himself to notice that I’m also on edge. A student murdered on campus, the killer not bothering to hide the body. The newscast hadn’t named the cause of death, but I thought I had a pretty good idea. 

“I’m sure he’s fine, Basil. Didn’t you see him this morning?” I say, not sure if I’m trying to reassure him or myself. The sun has set by now and there’s a light drizzle, so I flip on the windshield wipers as we creep through the late evening traffic.

“I left early for class. It’s been hours,” he snaps, not looking up from his mobile “Why isn’t he answering?!” He nearly shouts, hammering his hand against the upholstery of the seat.

“He probably just turned off his mobile. Why don’t you call the Bunce girl?” I say. He snorts in frustration, but selects her number and puts the phone to his ear. The fingers of his other hand are wrapped tightly around his knee, knuckles white. I realize that I’m drumming my fingers nervously against the steering wheel, and I make a conscious effort to stop, tightening my grip on it instead. 

At a red light I slip out my phone and text Nicky. “have u seen the news?”

“Penny?” Baz's voice is high and tight, “No it’s…..is Simon there?” He pauses, listening. “No, I know he’s supposed to be at work. He’s not answering. Did you see…?” Another pause, then he shouts "Penny!” I hear her high pitched reply coming through the phone, but can’t understand what she’s saying. “No. I’m on my way there now. Call me if you hear anything.” He slams the phone down, and slides low in the seat, pulling his feet up and resting them on the base of it, then hunches over, texting furiously on his mobile between his knees. Normally I’d tell him to get his shoes off my fucking upholstery, but I decide to make an exception. 

Neither of us says anything for the next 10 minutes, but as we approach the campus I finally break the silence. “I need directions from here, Baz. Where are we going?”

“He works at the library,” he says sliding back to an upright position in the passenger seat. He begins to give me terse directions, and I don’t object when he instructs me to turn onto a campus lane that is clearly off limits for non-official vehicles. “Stop here,” he orders me, and I pull over right in front of a no parking sign, suppressing a sigh. 

We’re stopped in front of a large gray concrete building “Central Library” is etched in large letters on the huge green glass entrance. Baz is shooting out of the car before I’ve even put it in park, and running up the lawn towards the entrance. I shut off the engine and lock the doors before following him at a slower pace. I enter through the glass doors a moment after him and witness the circulation desk in a state of disarray- a stack of books half knocked over, the top one lying open to a random page. A clipboard has fallen to the floor and let loose the papers that had been clipped to it. Behind the desk, a young blond woman with her hair in a loose braid is staring in wide eyed, slack jawed astonishment at Baz, who has apparently just leapt across the desk to get at an extremely surprised Simon. Simon is uttering little noises of protest as Baz alternately attempts to smother him in his arms and pat him all over for signs of injury. The woman turns her gaze to look at me as I approach and I can't hold back a snort of laughter at the expression of absolute bewilderment on her face. 

"This is not a laughing matter Fiona!" Baz shoots back at me without turning away from Simon, who is now attempting to extract himself from Baz's grip.

"Agh...what the-" he twists around and manages to wedge his shoulder against Baz's chest and butt him away “fuck Baz?! He finishes, holding out a hand to fend him off. 

Baz immediately catches hold of him again and wraps his arms around him, burying his face into Simon's neck. "Haven't you seen the news?" He mumbles, "I thought..."

"Ah." Comprehension dawns on Simon's face, and he turns to look at the computer monitor resting on the large wooden desk. It's turned half toward me and I see the headline _Student Found Dead_ splashed across it. "Janet and I were just reading that. As you can see I'm fine," he says with one eyebrow raised, a tinge of good natured annoyance in his voice.

"Yes but I thought..." Baz begins to respond, before trailing off sheepishly. He releases Simon from his death grip, but takes him firmly by the hand. 

"Uh this is my boyfriend, Baz," Simon turns to the woman, who looks slightly crestfallen at the word ‘boyfriend', "Baz, this is my coworker Janet." Baz shakes her hand crisply, wiping the embarrassed look of his face and replacing it with his usual expression of haughty cool. "Could you, ah, excuse us for a moment Janet?" Simon asks her, pulling Baz firmly by the hand around the side of the desk and over towards the door. I turn my back and pretend to be looking at the notice board to give them a bit of privacy. As they stand in the alcove by the entrance

"Baz." 

"I was just worried about you, Snow." Baz says. Only someone who knows him as well as I do can detect the note of defensiveness in his voice.

"I'm fine, nothing's happened to me. I can take care of myself, Baz." Simon says. His tone has a touch of weariness in it that suggests this is a conversation they have had before.

"Well apparently there's a killer on the loose, how was I supposed to know you weren't out there somewhere brandishing a sword at him like an idiot?" Baz snaps back at him icily. I expect to hear an angry reply, but there's nothing but silence for a moment. I sneak a quick look behind me. Simon has stepped in to Baz and has his chin cupped in his hand. Baz practically melts into him. 

"It's alright, love. I'm alright."

* * *

Nicky doesn’t text me back for hours. I’m a bit miffed by the time he finally does, I mean isn’t he the one who needs _my_ help?!

17:17 Fiona: have u seen the news?  
23:13 Nicodemus: Are you talking about Imperial College?  
23:13 Fi: wtf its been hours  
23:18 Nicodemus: I was sleeping.  
23:19 Nicodemus: We need to meet up.

I took them both back to my flat after we left the library, which was fucking weird, to be honest. But Simon kept insisting that he didn’t need a babysitter and that Baz should go home and finish his studying. My expert knowledge of the moods of Basilton Grimm-Pitch informed me that we were treading dangerously close to a mighty sulk which could last all evening unless I intervened, so I finally told them both to just get in the car. 

I did get a real kick out of seeing Simon cram himself into the backseat of the MG. 'Course I made Baz ride back there for a good 6 months after he got kidnapped last year, but he did it with so much more grace. Simon is shorter than Baz, but he’s bulkier, and much less coordinated. It felt like packing a great dane into a cat carrier. 

We still had plenty of leftover takeout from earlier at the flat. That would have been enough for me and Baz, but apparently Simon requires the same amount of food as a small racehorse so I ordered a couple of pizzas as well. He acted enough like a skittish horse when he first came in, continually knocking shit over in his attempts not to touch anything. He kept sort of turning around on the spot while I fixed tea so that he wouldn’t have his back to me until Baz finally got exasperated and pulled him into the living room, muttering things like ‘calm down,’ and ‘contrary to appearances, she doesn’t actually bite.’

He finally relaxed when the pizza arrived, though he did look at me as though I might attack at any moment when he dripped cheese on my sofa. “Relax, if I wanted to kill you, I would have just poisoned your tea,” I said,and Baz looked daggers at me. To his credit, Simon just laughed. 

Now the two of them are watching telly. Baz is lying down with his head in Simon’s lap, that absurd tail grasped loosely in one hand and a book propped open in the other. Simon has his fingers in Baz’s hair. It’s completely adorable, but I’m trying to remind myself that it’s much more my style to be revolted by open displays of affection. 

23:19 Fi: right now?  
23:21 Nicodemus: Yes.

“Who are you texting?” Baz interrupts my typing. I look up, trying to seem casual.

“No one,” I say too quickly, standing up. “I’m going out.”

Baz props himself up on one elbow and looks me over suspiciously. “Where are you going?” 

“Nowhere.” I respond, shrugging into my jacket and pawing around the coffee table for my keys, which are under a discarded pizza box. “Just meeting a friend. Don’t wait up.”

“What friend? What are you doing?” He asks, narrowing his eyes. Simon, who had dozed off, wakes abruptly with a small huff. 

“Whas goin on?” he mumbles sleepily.

“None of your business. I’ll be out late. He can stay the night,” I respond to Baz and turn out of the room, calling over my shoulder, “but don’t shag on my sofa.”

I hear Baz muttering “she’s up to something” as I pass out the door.


End file.
